


Just 'Cause I Got Tits Don't Mean I'm Your Mother

by Thette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Art, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Study, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet with art: Genderswapped, diesel dyke Bobbie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just 'Cause I Got Tits Don't Mean I'm Your Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://bold-sartorial-statement.tumblr.com/post/45366588277/just-cause-i-got-tits-dont-mean-im-your) (with Bobbie called Betty, I wasn't sure which name would fit better). A character study I used for cosplay.

"Just ‘cause I got tits don’t mean I’m your mother, idjit."

Bobbie Singer sure never said life had been easy on her. These last few years, helping out the dumbass trouble magnet Winchesters and saving that scrawny ass sonofabitch Rufus were not that bad, considering. People had died, but overall, she was happier than in a long time, especially since she got out of the chair.

She almost never talked about Karen, and when she did, she called her “my gal”. They had been happy together, keeping to themselves, and never getting much trouble from the locals. It paid to have people owing her. The day Rufus had ganked the demon inside Karen, she vowed to never get involved with anyone ever again.

Of course, that didn’t last long. Rufus had been her first man, and they were on again, off again in that hunter way until Omaha. And afterwards, some of the women she met on the road had been very thankful. She never stayed more than one night.

She never talked about her father, the drunken shit who beat her for not being the boy he had wanted. Or for not doing what he wanted when he wanted it. Or for just being alive, goddammit. Fuck him, anyway. She was a better mechanic than he ever had been. When she shot him, she’d been twelve, and ever since, she had run the salvage yard herself. His body was the first of many she buried.

Come to think about it, there are many things she won’t talk about. She never was one for braiding hair and gossiping.

She never imagined she’d ever have a family. Her and Karen hadn’t even thought about children, and marriage wasn’t on the map. We’ve come a long way, she thought wistfully. And yet, here she was, with two practically adopted sons and sometimes a freaky angel living under her roof. Life could be worse.

Bobbie opened a bottle of beer, and drank most of it in one big gulp. One more for her, one for Dean and one for little Sammy. She went back to the boys and the books in the library.


End file.
